The Heist: Chapter 2 - Stage Left
by jcoates
Summary: The team flee the crime-scene, stopping off along the way to make the drop.


**Stage Left**

As the scene behind them faded from sight, the man in black turned away from the rear windscreen and regarded the road ahead, breathing a great sigh and trying to get his pulse back under control.

The man in grey turned slowly to face him. He removed his sunglasses, folded them carefully, and pointed them accusingly at the nose of his colleague.

'Now, Nick,' he said in his unmistakable cockney twang, dropping his professional "working manner", as he called it, 'what in the _fuck _was that little manoeuvre?'

'Not a fan of that one, Baggo?' replied Nick in mock surprise. 'Reckless, embarrassing, indiscreet, culminating with a pack of screaming women… I thought that'd be right up your alley.'

Tom Baggery, or Baggo, as he was known to his associates – a nickname forged from his convenient surname and his long standing preference to always leave a job with at least one of the bags of swag – exhaled through his nose, sending twin streams of cigarette smoke into Nick's face, and raised his eyebrows.

'Nah, nah, mate, I fucking loved it;' he replied sarcastically, 'fucking _adored_ it. I just thought that with us having committed the biggest jewel heist of all time, we'd be seeking to keep a low profile, something hindered somewhat by you firing warning shots over the head of a lady of the fucking law.'

'I'll admit I dropped the ball on that one,' replied Nick, unbuttoning his top button and loosening his tie, 'but keep your chin up! There are enough gold and platinum goodies in this bag to keep us up to our necks in luxury for the rest of our days. The plan is still holding. We can bloody well do this, Baggo, if we keep our heads. Now pass me a cigarette, for fuck sake.'

Baggo handed Nick a smoke and he rolled down the electric window as he lit it. He handed Baggo's lighter back to him and caught his associate looking at him. Nick could tell he was appraising him, weighing up his resolve.

_I've got the balls, don't you worry, sunshine._

'We're going to be fine, Baggo. The plan is good, the plan is fucking _solid_, mate. Isn't that right, Driver?'

The huge head of the Driver bobbed once in agreement. He was a giant of a man – a whopper, as Nick's old man would say - square and tall, baring a striking resemblance to a fridge with a moustache, wearing a tailored tweed suit. On his head was perched his trademark porkpie hat. He was a man who said little – as a matter of fact Nick had worked with him on a number of jobs, and had only ever heard him speak twice, once when they had first met, and again when he uttered the word_ bollocks_, when confronted with heavy traffic.

Baggo winked. 'Lovely-jubbly,' he said, 'in that case how many of the forty-two pieces did we manage to filch off those exorbitant bastards then?'

'Please – filch? Really?'

'You know what I mean, Nick, swallow your pride. We didn't all go to private school, you know. How many of them did we lift?'

Nick looked at him, a small smile flickering reservedly across his features. Only the gleam in his green eyes showed the excitement simmering beneath the surface.

'Well?' Baggo pressed.

Nick rubbed his eye nonchalantly and fastened his pistol into his shoulder holster, remembering to button it this time. He looked up at Baggo.

'We got it all.'

All of it? All of the items on the list?' Baggo persisted.

'All of them,' Nick assured him.

The Audi belted up the street and took a hard right followed by a left a second later. The Driver didn't speed, there was no point drawing any unwanted attention to the vehicle, but he made sure that they made good time through the busy London streets. He manoeuvred the car with the deft hands of a man who practically lived behind the wheel of a car, like a man who did this sort of thing for a living (which he did), nipping between the tightest gaps and swerving confidently through the dense traffic.

'So that's –'

'Yeah,' replied Nick, 'you better get planning on just what the hell you're going to buy with your share of fifty-four million pounds, boys.'

Even the Driver turned briefly in his seat - which was no easy feat considering he was built like a vending machine - at the sound of that colossal figure. Baggo looked dazedly out of the back windscreen, his eyes practically projecting cartoon dollar signs. He was mouthing one thing over and over.

'Yeah,' agreed the man in the black pinstripes. 'That is a _shitload_ of money.'

There was silence then. Each man lost in thoughts of money and what it could bring them.

'That'll be Jay,' Baggo supplied, pointing to a figure sitting astride a motorcycle at the end of the side street that they were now coasting down.

'Of course it is, you plonker,' Nick said. 'How many other people would you expect to find relaxing on their motorbikes down alleyways as shitty and deserted as this one.'

'Well, there was this girl once…'

'I bet there was,' Nick chuckled.

The Driver snorted into his moustache.

Nick handed Baggo the other bag of stolen jewellery from the backseat.

'No chit-chat, Baggo. We just drop and go, alright?'

'Jesus, alright son, no need to get your fucking knickers in a twist. Jesus,' he repeated, turning to the Driver, 'anyone would have thought we'd done something awful.'

The car pulled up alongside the motorcycle with its window down. It barely stopped as Baggo handed over the two bags to the person on the bike. Jay took them and stuffed them into a rucksack sitting on the handlebars. A moment later the bag was secured and the engine of the motorcycle started.

Nick caught a flash of bright blue eyes, clearer and more brilliant than any of the gems they had so recently stolen, and a flick of black hair, before the visor came down and the rider's face was concealed. Without any preamble the bike roared off down the alleyway, the scream of the engine echoing off the sides of the buildings. Then it was gone.

The Audi took off, turning right out of the side-street and continued on its way.


End file.
